It's so easy to get lost in the noise; so simple to get swallowed in the flow of work and social activities and work and work. It feels so good to be go, go, going and accomplishing this and that and having something to show, having the praise of others for a job well done. Those words feel so good in my ear; make me want to do more, to get more, to go more. And so I go. I do. More.
And I forget.
I forget the beauty of the silence. Of the quiet. I forget how to listen to the beating of my own heart, like a drum, steady and true in my chest. I forget that none of it really matters. None of it. I forget all that can be heard in the nothing - the whispers, the nudges, the sweet longings of my soul.
But when I get a taste of that quiet once more, I ache for it. Standing out in the freezing dark of winter, listening to the silence, the way the snow absorbs the sounds of the city, the way the air is still while the world sleeps. The way even the earth seems to hold her breath in honor of the silence.
Then I remember what's real.